White Verdure
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: Ozpin has made more mistakes than any man, woman, and child on Remnant. One of them is forgetting that no matter how close they've grown, Glynda is not one to accept spontaneous marriage proposals. This story follows Ozpin's subsequent letter of explanation and apology, but will it be good enough? T for reasons. I do not own RWBY!


Ozpin tugged off his jacket distractedly, fumbling with the hook on the back of his bedroom door before finally allowing his coat to crumple to the ground—abandoning his façade of composure. Slamming the door, annoyed with his own preoccupation, he made his way to his writing desk and sat down in his chair abruptly with a sigh.

He had expected it. Of course he had. How could he _not_ have expected it? This was Glynda, not one of his over-eager students with a complex love life and thirst for drama. This was _Glynda_, a distinctly non-romantic woman for whom appearances meant everything.

Loosening the scarf around his neck, Ozpin pulled out a sheet of paper and a fountain pen with fierce determination. However, no sooner had he prepared the ingredients for a letter than he realized he had no idea what he wanted to say—or if he even wanted to say anything at all.

She had made her feelings painfully clear on the matter, after all—so much so that Ozpin hardly knew how to respond. In the end, he hadn't been able to. He had simply pulled away from an apologetic kiss, whose brief taste still lingered bitterly in his mouth, and stormed back to the relative safety of his own room.

_Dearest Miss Goodwitch,_

The words had seemingly written themselves by the time Ozpin forced himself back to the present. Sighing heavily, and fidgeting with his scarf once more before tearing it off entirely and throwing it onto the floor, brooch and all, he tried to imagine where in the world this letter was going.

This was a matter that called for precision—and Ozpin's fingers were as tremulous as his thoughts, ill suited to the delicacy required. He knew it would be better to sleep on the matter, but he no more had the power to rest than to resurrect Summer Rose. He would be out of his wits by daybreak if he tried.

_I apologize if what I said was untoward, but it is the truth as I see it, and I must beg you to forgive me. You are without doubt the most beautiful, most intelligent, strongest woman I could ever hope to have at my side in any sense._

Ozpin's pen hovered hesitantly over the paper before meeting it once more in a ferocious, passionate scribble. Expelling his feelings took precedence over legibility; whether or not Glynda would be able to read it hardly entered his head as he continued scrawling his emotions onto the innocent paper.

_I never should have presumed to ask for your hand in marriage. I am genuinely sorry for assuming that you were ready for this commitment. I misjudged your willingness to participate in our dalliance as true affection. But for what it's worth, I believe you're wrong._

He paused, frowning. That hadn't been what he had expected to write; Ozpin generally allowed Glynda to win their few arguments, most of which were work-related debates. However, his scowl was immediately replaced by a small and somewhat defeated smile: this would be the first time he had dared to fight back against her, and an inopportune time it was. Now that the ink was splattered on the page in that particular sentence, there was no taking it back. Ozpin would have to explain himself for once in his mistake-ridden life.

_Appearances aren't everything, Glynda Goodwitch. They never have been. For a woman with such lovely eyes, you are seemingly blind to the fact that any rumors circulated about us would actually lose their sting if we were to marry. Any encounter between us would instantly become explainable by our union, and people would quickly lose interest._

Ozpin's smile widened momentarily before he continued; he was sure, perhaps irrationally so, that he would be able to convince her. Though he hardly enjoyed arguing, hence why he tended to allow Glynda's point of view to triumph over his own, he was a formidable opponent when he was invested in victory.

_If these inhibitions are truly the only ones keeping you from accepting my offer, then I hope you will reconsider. However, if you are simply uninterested in my suggestion, please say as much. You are too compassionate to trifle with my affections._

There was a brief pause; Ozpin hesitated for a moment, heartbeat increasing as a phrase drifted across his head—seldom exchanged but for moments filled with shivering kisses and wandering hands, when the only things on his over-active mind were heat and movement and breathlessness.

_I love you. I love you more than I can say, or ever have said. Your presence in my life means more to me than that of anyone else._

Ozpin let out a long breath he hadn't realized he had been holding as the ethereal image of a white cloak made its way unbidden into his head. He closed his eyes, bowing his head before the phantom of his former teammate helplessly and begging it silently to depart, lest it prove him a liar.

_However, I will respect your decision to refuse me, and if you so wish, I will never communicate those words again._

It was too late: the disembodied white cloak regarded Ozpin coldly through the rose petals in his mind's eye, and memories like a chilly breeze drifted forth of its owner's sad, gentle smile and the caress of her hand on his face… and, most of all, the way a single warm tear slipped down her face as she told him she had to leave.

A long and dangerous path led down to the mental shrine wherein the spirit of Summer Rose rested: Ozpin had traversed it many a time, for many a reason, and never returned dry-eyed. This was not the time for such remembrances, and he knew it. The events of this evening, the latest chapter in the tome of Ozpin's failures, was more than enough to make him feel inadequate without bringing his history into the matter.

_I will forever be devoted to you. If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask—and if you change your mind, I will be waiting for you._

_Faithfully yours,_

After signing his name, Ozpin dropped the pen, took off his tear-speckled glasses, and buried his face in his hands almost simultaneously. There was nothing more he could do, save pray to whatever gods might hear him that Glynda Goodwitch might change her mind for once in her life, and listen to her heart as well as his.

Ozpin debated getting something to drink, perhaps a bit stronger than his usual tea, but decided that making even more of a mess of himself was hardly the best solution when he _did_ have to work tomorrow.

A matter-of-fact knock at his door startled him: trembling, he folded the letter, perhaps less neatly than he would ordinarily, and—ignoring his somewhat unkempt appearance—opened the door suddenly, before he could change his mind.

There stood Glynda, looking distinctly concerned, if a little blurry without his glasses. She pushed her way past Ozpin into his room, ignoring the letter he so feebly proffered, and glanced at the jacket and scarf lying crumpled on the ground before turning her verdant eyes to his brown ones with an obvious and worried effort.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, with a searching glance.

Ozpin raised his eyebrows and said nothing. How could he? Her words were always music to his ears, but here they sang a sad and solemn tune, and he would prefer not to make it a duet. Rather than speak, he merely handed her the letter, much more forcefully this time, and sat at his desk once more, waiting for her to read it and leave him to his thoughts.

He never expected, during the agonizing minute or so while Glynda read and digested his feelings, that she might decide to stay.

Ozpin's eyes flew wide open, a shiver making its way unprofessionally up and down his spine, as her fingers massaged his shoulders. For a moment, no words were exchanged between them; their only communication was her tender and rhythmic and wonderfully _reassuring _pressure.

Hope blossomed in Ozpin's heart with burning suddenness, and he rose to his feet and turned to face Glynda, startling her. Scooting the chair out of the way, he waited—breath held—for her to say something, anything, to confirm her implications.

"You're right," she laughed eventually, uncharacteristically girlish as she dipped her head, and rocked back and forth on her feet with equally unusual awkwardness. "Why are you _always_ right?"

Ozpin closed his eyes, brimming with unexpected joy and relief, and traced Glynda's jawline with a lazy hand. He had all the time in the world, now. Even if she didn't accept his proposal—even if things just stayed as they were now, as a secret affair—he would cherish every moment, even more, now that she had forgiven him his forwardness.

"Glynda," sighed Ozpin, opening his eyes again and glancing down into hers, unable to suppress the tumultuous intensity of his emotions. "Whether you accept my offer or not, know that you mean the world to me," he began, in a desperate attempt to convey what he was sure he had not done in his letter, but she merely rested a finger lightly on his lips, and replaced that gently silencing digit with her own mouth a moment later in a tender and lingering kiss.

"I was so startled at your proposal that I didn't even check with my heart before I used the excuses I always have," sighed Glynda when they pulled apart, eyes downcast, but her crestfallen expression quickly gave way to a radiant smile. "Of course I'll marry you, _Professor_ Ozpin," she teased, her arms remaining around his neck; Ozpin sighed exasperatedly, having told her many a time to call him by his ordinary name—requests which she invariably ignored.

A fraction of a second later, though, a smile tugged at his lips, so sweetly redeemed by hers; he was about to sink to one knee and attempt to proclaim his undying love once more when Glynda—evidently sensing such an idea—smiled, shaking her head amusedly.

"I've already accepted your offer," she chortled. "What _is_ the earthly use of doing it all over again," she added, a single hand trailing down to the buttons on his vest and undoing them industriously, "when we could be doing something much more… interesting?" Glynda backed up suggestively to sit on the edge of his bed, legs crossed, and awaited his decision.

She didn't have to wait long. As Ozpin (quickly discarding his open vest) knelt before her, this time to unlace her boots with amorous obedience, he couldn't help but think that marrying Glynda might make all his past failures worthwhile.

**((This started out as a love letter and wound up kinda darker than I anticipated. It's been awhile since I've written OzGlyn, so I decided it was about time to revive the ship a bit in the gap between volumes!))**


End file.
